


beneath the surface

by kaneki_coffee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kitagawa Daiichi, M/M, Mainly set in junior high, Slight Angst?, so expect a more innocent kageyama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaneki_coffee/pseuds/kaneki_coffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“To friends?” Iwaizumi asked, holding a pastry in the air.</p><p>“Friends,” Kageyama replied, knocking his own to Iwaizumi’s. A shower of sugar flakes and crumbs fell onto their heads, and they laughed, both feeling tired but happy and warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	beneath the surface

**Author's Note:**

  * For [transtobio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transtobio/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Skyler!!! This is my gift to you. I hope I did them justice, it was such a delicate thing to write. I probably rewrote this four times, and by the end I STILL didn't go with my original plot smh. But I'm happy with this and I hope you are too!!

A piercing whistle broke Iwaizumi’s concentration. He looked up in surprise, pausing before he could complete the toss to Oikawa who was waiting impatiently behind the end line. 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa protested, “you still had time to throw it!” He broke from his stance and jogged to stand beside Iwaizumi, a pout already on his face.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and shoved him forward carelessly. “Shut up,” he said, pointing towards the doors on the far side of the gym where their team was beginning to gather. “The coaches are here, we can’t just ignore them when they call for us.”

Oikawa stuck his tongue out and stole the volleyball from Iwaizumi’s hands as they made their way across the court. “That’s where you’re wrong, Iwa-chan,” he said, “we  _ can _ just ignore them. It’s a matter of if we  _ want _ to.”

“Sure,” Iwaizumi agreed blandly, beginning to move a little faster. “You can get benched for being an idiot. I won’t stop you.”

Oikawa matched his pace easily and tossed him a grin. “I wouldn’t worry,” he assured teasingly, “if we were benched for being idiots,  _ some _ of us would never play.” 

Iwaizumi shot him a dark look and Oikawa cackled gleefully, skipping ahead a few steps with a smirk. 

“Better hurry up, Iwa-chan,” he teased.

Iwaizumi resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. If he gave in to that urge every time Oikawa decided to be an ass, he would be stuck looking at the ceiling forever. 

He joined the group circle just in time, jabbing an elbow into a smirking Oikawa’s side as the head coach raised a hand in greeting to the team. He was still talking to an assistant coach, not yet ready to begin practice. A glance at the clock above the doors told Iwaizumi that there was still technically four minutes of free time. Not that that mattered to most of the team; many of them had already warmed up on their own.

A voice to his right interrupted his thoughts. “You can  _ not _ be serious.”

Three of the first years stood beside him, Kunimi, Kindaichi, and Kageyama, all bickering quietly. Kunimi’s face was blank, hard to read, but the other two looked alarmed.

“I’m not making it up,” Kunimi shrugged. He shoved his hands into the sides of his shorts, slouching casually. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

Kageyama tilted his head in confusion, eyebrows knitting together. “Bodies can’t…bend that way, though.”

“Yeah,” Kindaichi said, hesitantly twisting his arm behind his back as he tried to mime it out. His back was arched awkwardly and the pose didn’t look comfortable in the slightest, but he kept trying. “There’s no way. It’s impossible, look.”

Iwaizumi pursed his lips. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take without context. “Kindaichi, what are you doing?”

The three first years jumped in surprise and turned to face him guiltily. 

“Nothing!” Kindaichi answered hurriedly, cheeks flushing brightly as he straightened. “I’m stretching!”

Kageyama glanced at him, fighting a smile. “We saw a tape,” he supplied as if that answered the question.

“Ooh, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa sang, peering around Iwaizumi’s shoulder and wiggling his eyebrows. “What  _ kind _ of tape were you watching?” His tone was nothing but suggestive, and, with the way Kindaichi had been posing, Iwaizumi secretly wanted to know what the first years had gotten into as well. 

“A horror film, Oikawa-san,” Kunimi answered blandly. “I was telling them how it ended.”

“Oh, really? Huh. Who would’ve thought?”

Iwaizumi had to choke back a laugh as Kindaichi flushed even more, the dots finally connecting in his head. 

“Oikawa-san, no!” He looked mortified and gestured frantically as if he could swat away any doubt. “It was a scary movie! Honest!”

Oikawa laughed, waving it away. “Shh,” he said in what could be taken for as an apologetic tone, “I was only kidding, don’t worry.”

Kageyama looked as if it still hadn’t clicked. “I still don’t get how she fit inside a barrel,” he pressed, focused on the matter at hand. “It was smaller than Kindaichi.”

“Hey! I’m not that short!”

Kunimi snorted. “She was dead.”

“What?” Kindaichi exclaimed, mouth dropping in horror. “No! Kunimi, spoiler alert!” 

“You asked,” Kunimi retorted. He pulled his hands out of his shorts and crossed his arms.

“No, Kageyama did! And you didn’t have to tell him!” Kindaichi looked truly distressed.

Iwaizumi shrugged. “If you didn’t want spoilers, you shouldn’t have been asking about the end of the movie, Kindaichi,” he pointed out. “That’s just common sense."

Oikawa clucked his tongue in sympathy. “Bad luck,” he observed. 

Iwaizumi noticed the assistant coaches pull away and he raised a hand to pause the conversation. “Practice time,” he said. “Let’s get serious.”

“Yes,” the three first years chorused. Kageyama sounded newly energized, revving to go, but poor Kindaichi sounded distraught still. Oikawa giggled.

The meeting didn’t last more than two minutes. The head coach addressed his clipboard and announced a new team rotation for the next practice game. It wasn’t anything really new; just a change in strategy, a goal to practice towards for the week. 

“Stretch!” the coach finally called, clapping his hands together and turning away, letting Oikawa lead the team through stretches. 

Iwaizumi went through the stretches diligently, focusing on himself, so he was surprised when he leaned to his right and almost knocked heads with Kageyama.

Kageyama looked just as surprised. “Sorry,” he whispered, scooting away, “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi replied, careful to keep his voice lower than the sound of the team counting aloud. He didn’t want to run extra laps for chatting during a stretch session.

“Shh,” Oikawa whispered to them both, switching sides so he could eye them up. “You’re breaking the rules, Iwa-chan.” He had an evil glint in his eye.

Iwaizumi bit back a retort, refusing to rise to the bait. He was  _ not _ going to let Oikawa give him extra laps. Kageyama merely sank deeper into the stretch. If he had heard Oikawa, it didn’t show.

After a few more stretches, the head coach walked behind them, his shoes squeaking on the gym floor. “Receives!” he called, raising his hand to his mouth and whistling. He moved to stand on the sideline as the team moved to center court. 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said snippily, prodding Iwaizumi in the side, “why aren’t you moving? You still owe me a toss, and we can’t get to that until we finish warming up.” 

“Get on the court then, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi returned, swatting his hand away. “You’re the one that needs to practice receives.”

A gasp. “You say that as if I’m bad at them!”

Iwaizumi grinned and cracked his knuckles. “I’m just saying that the first years could probably do better,” he said with a nod towards the trio that had joined the line on the court. 

Oikawa followed his line of vision and made a gagging noise. “Iwa-chan, don’t make this a competition with our dear underclassmen.”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “You better watch out, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Ugh,” Oikawa groaned, jogging away to join the line. “I can’t wait to go to high school. Maybe  _ then _ I’ll be rid of you.”

“Don’t count on it, dumbass.”

 

* * *

 

“Oikawa, give it a rest,  _ please _ ,” Iwaizumi groaned for the tenth time that day. Weeks had passed, and their team had won every game so far, with Oikawa leading them to victory. And yet, despite their successes, Oikawa was ill-tempered.

“Iwa-chan, he’s  _ copying _ me,” Oikawa huffed, spinning a volleyball in his hands idly as he eyed the net. “I don’t stay late after practice to have him stare at me creepily with those big eyes and absorb my skills like a sponge.”

“You can’t tell him to leave,” Iwaizumi warned, capping his water bottle and setting it on the floor. He turned away from Oikawa, eyes flicking to the far corner of the gym where Kageyama was practicing by himself. 

Usually the gym was theirs alone, setter and spiker, and it had been surprising the first time Kageyama had stayed behind to practice longer. Oikawa had wanted to kick him out immediately, hackles rising, but Iwaizumi had put his foot down. Kageyama could stay. The three never talked or practiced together, but it had become familiar to hear the sounds of other sneakers squeaking and the smack of another ball hitting the court floor. Familiar to jump and feel the prickle of someone’s gaze on your back.

“I’m not telling him to leave,” Oikawa said, lowering his stance as he prepared to serve. “I’m saying it’s  _ weird _ and I don’t like it. I overheard the coaches talking, and they want to make him into a setter. Like  _ me _ .” 

“So?”

Oikawa looked at Iwaizumi like he had grown a second head. “What do you  _ think _ ?” Leave it to Oikawa to complain and whine but never voice his fears out loud, Iwaizumi griped internally.

“He’s a first year, Oikawa!”

“He’s a genius!”

Iwaizumi crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “You’re overthinking, and overdoing things. You’re going to burn yourself out at this rate.”

Oikawa didn’t seem to hear, his eyes and ears focusing only on his serve. He took a deep breath, tossed the ball in the air, and immediately jumped after it, the palm of his hand slamming into it with a satisfying noise that echoed throughout the gym. The ball gracefully arced over the net and continued almost serenely straight over the opposing end line.

“Out,” Iwaizumi observed. “A home run.”

He had expected a wail in response, or a pout, maybe teasing words thrown in his face, but he was greeted with nothing but a dark expression and eyes only for the ball lying so innocently out of bounds. He was scary like this, and if he kept at it, he would be practicing for another few hours. It was already dark outside. 

Iwaizumi made a snap decision. “Time to go home,” he said firmly, clapping his hands.

That broke Oikawa’s concentration. “What? What time is it? It hasn’t been that long! Don’t be mean, Iwa-chan!”

“It’s been longer than usual,” Iwaizumi shot back, “and you’re the one being mean. Stop picking on Kageyama, he’s only a first year.” He jogged forward and picked up the resting ball that Oikawa had served, tossing it into the rolling cart that held the others.

“I’m not picking on him,” Oikawa protested, trailing after Iwaizumi like a lost puppy. “I’m a very good captain.”

“Yes, you are. It’s your personality that’s the problem.”

“Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi trotted to the net and began taking it down, urging Oikawa over to help him with a wave of his hand. “What? Are you going to tell me that you  _ don’t _ mind Kageyama learning from watching you?”

“He could at least ask,” Oikawa scoffed, as he grudgingly helped him with the net. “That would be the polite thing to do.”

“When have you ever cared about what’s polite? And he has asked, I’ve seen him ask you plenty of times. You’ve been an ass to him every time.”

Oikawa made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“You should just be happy he wears headphones while he practices so he doesn’t have to hear you.”

“Maybe I want him to hear,” Oikawa challenged.

“Seriously?” Iwaizumi sighed, balling the net fabric in his fists. “Why not just give him a chance? You didn’t immediately have a grudge on him. Just go back to that.”

“He wasn’t stealing my plays then!”

“Dammit, Oikawa, it isn’t about volleyball! Of course he’s going to pick up on your moves, you’re on the same damn team! You’re supposed to teach him!” Iwaizumi snapped, eye twitching in frustration. “Be a decent person and just treat him like everyone else. God, you don’t even know anything about him!”

“I know enough!” Oikawa said, his pride flashing across his face. “He’s smart, he’s talented, he’s a goddamn genius, and he’s my competition!”

“He’s your underclassman!” Iwaizumi’s eye twitched and he growled in frustration, thrusting the net into Oikawa’s arms. “Why don’t you get that? Haven’t I said it enough? Finish taking down the net yourself, Oikawa. I’m going to go tell our genius first year that the gym is closing.” He spun on his heel and stomped away.

“What? You’re leaving all the work for me?” Oikawa called, hurt. “Rude!”

Iwaizumi didn’t deign that with a reply, instead stopping just short of Kageyama, who still had not noticed him. He was in mid-toss, and Iwaizumi watched as the ball bounced into the wall he was setting to. It rolled past Kageyama, and Iwaizumi stopped it with his foot.

“Iwaizumi-san!” Kageyama seemed startled as he turned around, voice loud, his nose almost bumping into Iwaizumi’s chest.

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi apologized, catching his shoulder with a steadying hand. “We’re cleaning up, I just came to tell you.”

A look of confusion flitted across Kageyama’s face, and he tugged out his earbuds, letting them hang over his shoulders. “What time is it?” He dug in his pocket for his phone as he asked. “It hasn’t been that long, has it?”

“It’s already dark out,” Iwaizumi said in amusement, leaning over to pick up the volleyball at his feet. “Your family will start to worry if we’re here much longer.”

Kageyama pursed his lips unhappily, tucking his phone away again. “I can probably stay a bit longer,” he tried.

“No,” Iwaizumi shot down firmly. He lightly tossed the ball to Kageyama who caught it with both hands and cradled it to his chest. “Go throw that into the cart and grab a broom. Don’t start picking up on Oikawa’s bad habits now, first year. Practicing is good, but it’s important to know when to stop. You’ve got plenty of time to practice when the sun is up.”

Kageyama nodded hesitantly, an expression on his face that Iwaizumi couldn’t quite decipher. Had he been too mean? He didn’t want to scare off Kageyama, but if he was too cautious he would just sound  _ weird _ . He wasn’t good at this talking thing.

It was surprisingly Oikawa that saved him. “Iwa-chan!” he yelled from the entrance of the equipment closet. He had a broom in each hand and a glare on his face. “I’m not using two at once! Stop dawdling and get your butt over here, or you two can clean the court by yourselves!”

Iwaizumi let out a tired sigh and massaged his temple. “I’m going to kill him,” he promised under his breath in resignation. “One of these days, I’m going to kill him.”

“You’ll be arrested,” Kageyama noted matter-of-factly.

Iwaizumi looked Kageyama in the eyes and held his stare. “A small price to pay.” 

“Is he that bad?” Kageyama asked, staring at the ball in his hands. “I mean…he’s really good. At volleyball, I mean.”

“Yeah, he is,” Iwaizumi said, turning to stare at Oikawa, who was juggling to hold another broom from the closet. “But he’s got a lot to work on, and he can be a dumbass.”

“I think he’s cool,” Kageyama said, clutching the ball in his hands tighter and staring Iwaizumi in the eye. “He’s going to win the best setter award, it’s basically a given. And he works really well with the team, too.” 

Iwaizumi hesitated, unsure of how to handle this turn of events. He wasn’t much of a talker himself and hadn’t thought Kageyama would, well, talk so much about  _ Oikawa _ of all people. “There’s more to life than volleyball, Kageyama,” he said delicately.

Kageyama’s face closed off slowly, a slate wiped clean. “Yeah. Right, yeah, I know.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa yelled, stamping his feet. “You said we were  _ cleaning! _ ”

How a natural genius like Kageyama could ever admire someone as childish like Oikawa, Iwaizumi would never know.

“We’re  _ coming! _ ” he shouted back. He turned to Kageyama and added in a lower voice, “come on, before he blows a blood vessel.”

The three of them quickly cleaned after themselves before returning the equipment to the closet and turning off the gym lights. Oikawa locked the doors as Iwaizumi closed the windows, and Kageyama awkwardly waited behind them, unsure of what to do with himself. Done closing up the gym, the three headed to the locker room to grab their backpacks. 

Iwaizumi stood by the door, half in half out, waiting impatiently for Oikawa to finish shoving dirty laundry from his locker into his bag. “Hurry up,” he growled, tapping his foot.

“Don’t rush me, or you’re getting a sweaty sock to the face,” Oikawa shot back.

Kageyama tried to slip behind Oikawa unnoticed, but Iwaizumi stuck an arm out before he could escape the room. 

“Hang on a bit, Kageyama, we’ll walk you home.”

“What?” Kageyama and Oikawa chorused, Oikawa’s voice significantly louder. Iwaizumi would’ve paid to have his phone out and snap a picture of their shocked faces.

He lowered his arm and glared at Oikawa instead. “He’s a first year, and it’s dark out. We’re walking him home. No arguments.”

Oikawa took a look out the window and grumbled under his breath, but didn’t argue.

Kageyama, surprisingly, did. “Iwaizumi-san, I’ll be fine,” he said, attempting to slide past. “I’ve walked home dozens of times by myself.”

“No arguments, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa repeated, his voice mocking Iwaizumi’s as he zipped his bag shut and slammed his locker closed. “It’s dangerous to walk alone at night.” He stepped up behind the others and faked a cheerful grin. “We’ll have so much to talk about!”

Iwaizumi snorted and exited the room, shouldering his bag in a fluid motion. “Yeah. For starters, where do you live, Kageyama?”

Kageyama shifted uncomfortably and glared at his feet as he followed behind. “Near the general store,” he muttered.

“Tobio-chan, you need to go a bit more in-depth than that,” Oikawa laughed.

Iwaizumi smacked Oikawa upside the head before starting down the stairs, setting the pace for the others. “Shut up, idiot, let him finish speaking.”

“I live up the street from the general store,” Kageyama said, trailing behind the third years, feet dragging. He still wasn’t happy with the arrangement but respected them too much to argue. “Next door to the house painted bright yellow.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi replied, pleased, “that’s good! That’s on the way to our street.”

“No, it’s not,” Oikawa griped. “We’ll have to circle the block and cut through granny’s backyard if we want to make it to our street. The last time we did that, her dog bit my butt.”

Iwaizumi swatted him again. “Maybe you needed it,” he shot back with a glare.

Luckily, Kageyama didn’t seem to be following their conversation, or at least didn’t show interest on his face. He was too busy adjusting the strap of his sports bag to listen it seemed.

“Iwa-chan is so mean to me,” Oikawa complained, skipping ahead a few paces to get out of range of Iwaizumi’s arm. “I’m going to wake up with lumps on my beautiful head.”

Iwaizumi scuffed his sneaker on a crack in the road. “It’ll be an overall improvement.”

“I can see the headline now,” Oikawa said, waving a hand in the air above his head, “Troubled Youth Mutilates Local Beauty.”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, or are you too busy kissing a mirror, Oikawa?”

“At least my mother loves me, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa tossed back, spinning to face him and stick out his tongue. 

“You’re right. You have a face only a mother could love.”

Oikawa glared at him and spun around. “You’re so mean today, Iwa-chan, what’s got your pants in a bunch?”

“Do you really want me to go there?”

“On second thought, no,” Oikawa said stiffly. “Please remain your angsty self quietly. Actually, no, don’t do that either. Then I’ll be the only one talking because Tobio-chan hasn’t said a  _ word _ .”

Iwaizumi frowned. He had noticed that too. “You okay over there, Kageyama?” he asked, turning to look over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.” Kageyama looked startled by the question, a face he was making a lot that day.

“Tobio-chan, it’s polite to join in conversations,” Oikawa offered helpfully. “Don’t be so unsociable, the team already has an Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi cracked his knuckles and shifted his bag. “Why do you asked to get punched?”

Oikawa pouted, crossing his arms. “Iwa-chan, you wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses, would you?”

“You’re not wearing any,” Kageyama pointed out, eyes flicking to Oikawa’s face.

“Oh, wow. Bad time to decide to join the conversation,” Oikawa snapped back.

Iwaizumi grinned and ruffled Kageyama’s hair. “No, Oikawa, he’s got a point. No glasses means no protection.”

“Ha!” Oikawa threw open the bag hanging on his shoulder, digging to pull out a pair of sunglasses and shove them on his face. “Now I’m safe!”

Iwaizumi wheezed in laughter. “Who the hell wears shades at night, Oikawa?”

“Can you even see?” Kageyama asked in what sounded like morbid curiosity.

Oikawa probably glared at them, but it was hard to discern his facial expressions. “Of course I can,” he said, spinning on his heel and almost immediately stumbling off the curb.

“Oikawa-san!” 

“He’s fine,” Iwaizumi said, waving away Kageyama’s concern as he tried to catch his breath.

Oikawa flourished his hands above his head dramatically. “I meant to do that because we’re here! The general store! How  _ exciting _ .” His bag fell off his shoulder, the strap catching awkwardly on the crook of his arm, and he stumbled forward before catching himself. 

“Right,” Iwaizumi coughed. “Kageyama, you said your house was just up this hill?”

The smile that had begun to creep onto Kageyama’s face disappeared as he returned to the present. “Ah, yeah, it’s just a few houses up. I can make it from here.” 

“Sure,” Oikawa drawled, tipping his sunglasses down his nose like a librarian, “we’ll just stand here and watch you walk in.” It was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or serious. The streetlight overhead buzzed continuously, filling in the gaps of silence.

Kageyama stuttered out a thanks and bowed to his upperclassmen, surprising Iwaizumi, before jogging up the dim street, a small lonely figure in a blanket of darkness. 

“See? Was that so hard?” Iwaizumi asked, eyes tracking Kageyama. He had entered a dark house, pausing at the door to unlock it before slipping inside. 

Oikawa merely crossed his arms over his chest with a shrewd, calculating look on his face. “No,” he finally said. “I can play nice, but I stand by what I said. I don’t like him copying me.”

Iwaizumi turned to face him, biting back his frustration. “It’s a form of admiration, dumbass. And a way to learn. We learned the same way from  _ our _ upperclassmen.”

“Tobio can admire someone else,” Oikawa argued insistently. “Like you. You’ve already impressed half the first years with your muscle alone.”

“That’s not the point,” Iwaizumi grunted, stomping past Oikawa and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Why are all setters so  _ difficult? _ ”

Oikawa didn’t respond for a moment, shuffling silently after Iwaizumi. “I’ll do better,” he said finally. “It’s not a promise, but I will put in more of an effort.”

Iwaizumi sighed. That was the best he was going to get, he knew. “Just be the bigger person, okay?”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Oikawa said with a faint smirk, drawing himself up to his full height. “Tobio is so tiny.”

Iwaizumi groaned. “And,  _ please _ , stop acting so damn cocky.”

 

* * *

 

“How did you  _ do _ that?” Kindaichi asked, jogging back from picking up Kageyama’s tossed ball.

Kageyama bounced a new volleyball on the court floor, catching it and tossing it down again. “It wasn’t right,” he said with a frown. “I missed my target.”

Kindaichi laughed and shook his head in amazement, playfully pushing Kageyama. “Oh, come on, man! That was, like, spot on!”

“I need to practice more,” Kageyama replied, focusing intently on the net in front of him, not meeting his gaze. 

“You’re already so good! How much do you practice? I always see you sleeping during class, but whenever there’s free time, you’re here at the gym. Wait, let me guess,” Kindaichi laughed, raising his free hand in the air, “you don’t need to study either.” He whistled enviously, “I wish I was that smart.”

Kageyama spun the volleyball in his hands and shrugged a shoulder uncomfortably. “I don’t really study,” he said offhandedly. “I’m not good at it.”

“So modest,” Kindaichi laughed again. “You know, you’re different in the middle of practice than other times. I noticed that. You’re really intense and loud during practice, but otherwise, you’re,” he paused to think for a brief moment, “the strong silent type.”

Kageyama blinked at that, a smile creeping onto his face. “The strong silent type? Really, Kindaichi?”

“Shh, just let it happen.”

“Do I like long walks on the beach, too?”

Kindaichi grinned. “Only if you’re walking to a game of beach volleyball.”

Kageyama laughed outright and Kindaichi’s ears turned pink at the tips, pleased with himself.

“Do you want to spike for me?” Kageyama offered, tossing his ball in the air and catching it lightly. “I want to practice my sets a little more.”

“Kageyama, practice  _ just _ ended. Aren’t you tired at all?” Kindaichi groaned.

“One more toss?”

“No way, that’ll turn into an extra hour of practice. I know your ways.”

Kunimi interrupted their conversation, shouldering his sports bag as he joined them. “Kindaichi, stop talking Kageyama’s ear off. You owe me food, let’s go already.” Iwaizumi stood behind him, hands on hips. He nodded in silent greeting to Kageyama.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Do you want to come with us, Kageyama? I’ll buy you some pork buns, too.”

Kunimi groaned before he could reply. “Kindaichi, leave him alone, he obviously wants to stay and practice more. You’re just being a chatterbox,  _ and _ a distraction.”

Kindaichi looked hurt momentarily. “Right, yeah. Sorry, Kageyama, my bad. See you tomorrow.” He followed Kunimi off the court, pausing momentarily by the doors to collect his things before slipping out. It wasn’t yet dark outside, but the other members had all left. 

“Are you going to stay and practice?” Iwaizumi asked conversationally after a few beats of silence.

Kageyama nodded, “I need to work on my tosses so they don’t hit the net.  Where’s Oikawa? Are you not staying?” He gestured to the track pants Iwaizumi had changed into.

Iwaizumi scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “Oikawa is busy with the manager for the next half hour, and I wasn’t going to wait around. It’s a good time to do homework instead.” He laughed at the face Kageyama made. “Come on, homework is important.”

“It’s confusing.” He scrunched his nose in distaste.

“Ahh,” Iwaizumi smiled, “you haven’t finished yours yet, have you? When do you usually do it?”

Kageyama shrugged. “When I find the time.”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at the vague answer. “You sleep during class, you’re always here during lunch breaks and free periods. You don’t leave practice until Oikawa and I do, and by that point you can barely walk to your house because you’re so tired. You probably collapse onto your bed as soon as you get home because we’ve never seen you turn on the lights when you get there.”

“I do it in the morning,” Kageyama fidgeted. 

Iwaizumi grinned outright–Kageyama, it turned out, sucked at lying. “Time to mix it up a little,” Iwaizumi said, leaning forward to bat the volleyball out of Kageyama’s hands. It bounced to the floor and he swiped it up in one fluid motion before Kageyama could claim it again. “Go get dressed, first year, and grab your stuff.”

“Iwaizumi-san–“

“Nope,” he interrupted. “No buts. Get your stuff, we’re going to study. I’m not that great myself, but I can hold my own.”

Kageyama didn’t look happy with the turn of events. “Don’t we need to clean the court first?”

“The team just finished ten minutes ago. You haven’t moved enough for us to do it again. Oikawa can take down the net when he’s done.” He tucked the ball under his arm and clapped his hands twice. “Come on, it won’t be so bad. It’s a bad idea to practice so much. You need some breaks, Kageyama.”

Kageyama made an unhappy noise but began walking to the doors. Iwaizumi followed after, pausing only to toss the ball in his hands like a basketball into the cart carrying the other balls. It bounced off the rim and into the cart with a thunk, sending the cart rolling forward a few inches.

Together they walked to the locker room, sharing a comfortable quiet moment. It had become a habit to walk together over the weeks, but it was usually accompanied by a boisterous Oikawa teasing Kageyama, and sometimes a handful of upperclassman who stayed to work with their setter. Walking alone with Iwaizumi was decidedly nicer. He didn’t feel so out of place.

Kageyama changed fast, slipping into a matching pair of track pants and zipping his jacket as high as it could go. It was maybe a size too big for him, which was nice because he could easily tuck his chin under the high collar, the back of the metal zipper cold against his chin. 

“You ready?” Iwaizumi asked, setting down the volleyball magazine he had been flipping through while he waited for Kageyama to change. 

“Yes,” Kageyama replied, turning to follow him out of the small room. He paused just outside the threshold to close the door before turning to face Iwaizumi. “Where are we going?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “We could go to my house, but it’s really loud at this time of the day. My siblings are just getting home. How’s yours?”

Kageyama hesitantly shrugged as well. “Nobody’s home right now.”

“I’ll buy you some pork buns from the store when we go by it then, if that’s cool?”

Kageyama perked up at that. “Really?” He was almost salivating at the mouth at the mention of food.

Iwaizumi snorted, “Yeah, it’s the least I can do. If Kindaichi didn’t buy them all.”

He stayed true to his word. The walk to the general store was a quick one, and he walked outside with a bag of steaming buns in one hand. He held them in the air above Kageyama’s head and cracked a smile. “You don’t get them until you break out your homework,” he teased.

Kageyama had eyes for the food alone. “Not even one?” he asked hopefully.

“Fine,” Iwaizumi relented, dropping his hand and pulling out a single pork bun, “but just one.” The grin on Kageyama’s face was worth it, as well as the chipmunk-cheeked faced afterwards as he shoved it down.

“It’s good!” Kageyama said excitedly, licking his thumb and exhaling in satisfaction.

Iwaizumi couldn’t help but laugh again. “You  _ inhaled _ that. It’s a good thing I bought a bunch.”

Kageyama grinned, ducking his head as he searched his pockets and pulled out a ring of keys. Maybe studying with Iwaizumi was worth it, if he got free food. He unlocked the door to his house and slipped in, kicking his sneakers off and slipping into a pair of slippers. “You can use these,” he said quickly, gesturing to the only pair that would fit Iwaizumi’s feet.

“Sorry for intruding,” Iwaizumi said offhandedly as he pulled his own shoes off. There were three pairs of slippers at the door, one obviously smaller than the other two. So Kageyama had a younger sibling, he mused.

“My room’s this way,” Kageyama called, pointing down a narrow hall. He waited for Iwaizumi to walk closer before going to the end of the hall and cracking open the door to the left. 

The room was on the small side, with a tidy bed shoved in the corner and a desk on the opposite wall. Colorful posters hung from the walls, all of famous volleyball players and teams that had gone to nationals. A shelf hung above his bed, obviously dedicated to awards from elementary school, all sports related. It wasn’t the cleanest room, but it was tidy enough that it didn’t stand out. It had just enough mess near the desk that it suggested Kageyama spent most of his time here.

“It’s not much,” Kageyama began quickly, looking uncomfortable as he judged his room with his own eyes.

“It’s nice,” Iwaizumi said reassuringly, setting his bag down on the floor and sitting beside it. “It sort of looks like mine.”

Kageyama sat down across from Iwaizumi, crisscrossing his legs. “Really?”

Iwaizumi nodded to a poster above the desk. “I’ve got that same one, autographed.”

“How?” Kageyama asked, eyes widening.

“Oikawa went to their final match last year. I don’t know how he pulled it off, but he got close enough to get signatures on two posters.”

“You didn’t go?”

“I was sick in bed. It was  _ my _ ticket he used,” iwaizumi said, frowning. “I had wanted to go still, but my mom put her foot down. She gave him my ticket so I wouldn’t try sneaking out. I was mad for weeks,” he remembered. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, opening the bag containing their food. “Anyway, do you have a plate?”

Kageyama jumped upright. “Yeah, I’ll go grab one. You can stay here.” He stepped around Iwaizumi and left the room, heading to the kitchen.

Iwaizumi took out a pork bun and bit into it as he looked around the room a little more. There was a rectangular window beside the desk, the curtains tied open just enough to let sunlight filter through. The view outside was into what looked to be a tiny fenced yard. The fence had once been white, but there was one particular area that no longer was painted, obviously rubbed off somehow. He chewed thoughtfully, wondering if that was where Kageyama practiced tossing when he was home. He knew the damages a volleyball could do to a fence– he had helped paint Oikawa’s fence just last summer from the same thing.

“Back,” Kageyama announced as he swung the door open with a well-aimed nudge of his foot. He sat back down, setting a simple white plate in front of him. 

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi said around the food in his mouth, taking the bag and tipping the food onto the plate. He set it aside and swallowed what was in his mouth before asking, “You want to work now?”

“I guess,” Kageyama replied. His face said otherwise.

“It’ll go fast,” Iwaizumi assured, pulling out his homework and textbooks from his backpack. “Are your parents okay with me being here, by the way?”

“They’re not home,” Kageyama said with a shrug. He copied Iwaizumi and pulled out his own notebooks. “My little brother has a soccer game so they’ll be out for a while.”

Iwaizumi made a noise of understanding. “Must be nice to have the house to yourself,” he remarked. “I’ll leave before they get home at least, just in case. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Kageyama only shrugged in response. “We’ve got time. They’ll take him out for dinner, too, so they won’t be back until…nine?” He glanced at the clock on his wall. “Yeah, we’ve got four hours.”

“Wow,” Iwaizumi whistled. “Nice parents. Are they going to go to your first practice game?” He tried to imagine what Kageyama’s parents looked like, but he couldn’t come up with anything more than blank faces.

“Depends, I guess,” Kageyama shrugged. “My brother might have a game then. Or they won’t want to.” He reached for a pork bun and stared at his textbook. Iwaizumi watched as he chewed on the end of his pen, food forgotten in his other hand.

The subject on hand was getting a little too uncomfortable for Iwaizumi’s liking. Kageyama’s face seemed to have been wiped clean, void of expression, which was slightly worrying. A subject change was needed. 

“How’s math going?” he asked abruptly. 

Kageyama scrunched his nose and set his pen down. “I think I’m done.”

“Here, let me check,” Iwaizumi said, reaching over to tug the paper closer, not believing the speed at which Kageyama worked. He spun it around and read it over, a frown forming on his face. “Kageyama, do you know what a variable is?”

Kageyama mashed his lips together into a straight line and nodded. “It’s the words.”

“They’re English letters,” Iwaizumi supplied. “In this case, you used X and Y. They represent the horizontal and vertical axis on a grid.”

“Right,” Kageyama said seriously, nodding in understanding.

“So, you know where you went wrong?”

“No,” Kageyama replied just as seriously.

Iwaizumi turned the paper to face Kageyama, pointing at Kageyama’s scribbled writing beneath the first equation. “You answered with only the letters…it’s looking for a number answer.”

Kageyama frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi said, tapping his fingers on the floor as he thought. “Imagine it’s a volleyball court. Each ‘unit’ is going to be a step. You’re by the net, and I’m on the back rotation for receives.” He took Kageyama’s pen and a new pork bun and set them on a sheet of gridded paper for a visual reference. “Now, if I’m here,” he pointed to the pork bun, “and you’re here by the net,” he pointed to the pen, “what’s the number of steps between us?”

“It’s diagonal,” Kageyama said, frown deepening. 

“Right,” Iwaizumi said, finger tracing the distance. “That’s called the hypotenuse of the triangle.”

Kageyama looked alarmed. “There’s a triangle now? I thought this was volleyball?” 

“Just stick with me here,” Iwaizumi said. “The horizontal axis is your X axis. That just means it goes the same way as the volleyball net, straight across the court. The Y axis is vertical, which means it’s the long side of the court, get it?”

“Okay,” Kageyama said dubiously, staring at the paper in front of them. 

“So how many steps across the X axis do you need to take so you’re standing in front me?”

Kageyama leaned over and moved the pen. “Three.”

“Good job,” Iwaizumi said. “Remember that. How many steps would it take me to stand right on top of you?”

“You can’t do that in volleyball,” Kageyama said dryly. “Rotations keep that from happening.”

Iwaizumi flashed him a long-suffering look. “I know that. This is harder than it looks, okay? Just tell me how many steps it would take.”

Kageyama moved the pork bun and held it over the pen, “Four. And a flag from the ref.”

“Ha ha,” Iwaizumi said dryly, replacing the items. “But you’re right.” He used his pencil to trace the distances and write down the numbers. “So we just made this triangle out of those distances, see? We’re going to call this side A and this side B. The diagonal part, the hypotenuse, is going to be called side C.”

“This is a lot of letters for a subject about numbers,” Kageyama observed. 

“Don’t even get me started. Just wait until you get to my grade, when you start using pi.”   
  
“Pie?” Kageyama perked up at that–maybe math wasn’t so bad.

“Yeah, don’t get your hopes up. Anyway, you know the length of each side except C. You also have this equation at the top of your paper, see? So, just plug in the numbers you found and you’ll find the length of the side you need.”

Kageyama spent a minute scratching out work on his paper before turning it to Iwaizumi. “C is five?” he guessed. 

Iwaizumi grinned, picking up the pork bun off the paper and raising it in the air. “Cheers, you’re a mathematician.”

Kageyama smiled proudly, obviously pleased with himself. He raised his own forgotten pork bun in the air and tapped it lightly with Iwaizumi’s before taking a massive bite out of it. “It’s delicious,” he said, voice distorted as he tried to speak around the food.

“Food always tastes better after an accomplishment,” Iwaizumi agreed, taking a smaller bite of his own. “That’s one of the simpler problems, but they all use the same theory. Try doing the others,” he suggested.

“Okay,” Kageyama said, tackling the problems with newfound energy. He finished before Iwaizumi finished reading his chapter of history, handing it to him for corrections and shifting anxiously as he awaited the verdict. 

Iwaizumi whistled, impressed. “They’re all right. Good job, Kageyama.”

Kageyama grinned again. “It’s easier when I apply it to volleyball. Nobody ever explained it like that before.”

“Everyone has their own tips and tricks,” Iwaizumi said with a shrug. “I figured yours was something like that. Won’t do you much good in English, though, sorry about that.”

“What about these problems?” Kageyama asked, tugging out another sheet. It had already been turned in and was littered with red pen marks and a failing grade at the top. 

Iwaizumi stared at it for a few seconds before shoving his textbook away and crawling to sit beside Kageyama. “Get comfy,” he suggested dryly, “this might take a bit longer.” 

Kageyama cupped his chin in his hands and hung on every word, head dipping maybe a little closer to Iwaizumi’s than necessary as they huddled over the same paper. They slowly worked their way backwards through the textbook, not stopping until the pork buns were long gone and the streetlights outside were buzzing loudly. A glance at the clock betrayed the time they had spent working together.

“Shit,” Iwaizumi said, pulling himself to his feet and stretching. “Your parents will be home in an hour, I should go. My family’s probably wondering where I am, too.” He pulled out his phone and rolled his eyes. “At least Oikawa is. He’s sent ten texts in a row.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Kageyama said, picking up the empty plate as Iwaizumi gathered his things. 

They paused in the hallway so Kageyama could place the plate in the sink and Iwaizumi could put his sneakers back on. Kageyama opened the door for Iwaizumi, watched him walk outside and turn abruptly. 

“Do you mind if I give you my number?” Iwaizumi asked, digging out his phone from his back pocket. “I figure it’s a good idea in case you have more questions.”

Kageyama blinked in surprise and pulled out his own phone. “Yeah, I’m–I’m okay with that.” They switched hands, typing their information into the contacts before returning phones. 

Iwaizumi pocketed it, a satisfied expression on his face. “Good night, Kageyama,” he said with a smile and a wave, “get some sleep, okay? And a real meal,” he added. “Pork buns don’t count as dinner.”

“Yes,” Kageyama agreed dutifully, waving goodbye. He watched Iwaizumi walk down the road, pausing momentarily underneath a street lamp before continuing and fading into the darkness. He wondered for a brief second why Iwaizumi had paused, but was almost immediately answered. His phone buzzed in his hand and he glanced at it, a smile slipping onto his face as he read the text from “Iwaizumi Hajime”.

_ you did well. I’m proud  _

Kageyama bit his lip and tested out four replies before deciding to go with the simplest. 

**thank you.**

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi walked beside Oikawa, covering a large yawn with a hand and blinking sleepily. School always felt like it started earlier this late in the year, and it was getting harder to drag himself out of bed. Oikawa usually had no problem waking up, but this morning he had stepped outside only after Iwaizumi had knocked on his door for a minute straight. 

The stress was obviously getting to him. If Iwaizumi were to hazard a guess, he would’ve bet money that Oikawa didn’t get more than four hours of sleep a night. It was a habit that had begun in their second year, to stay up watching Youtube videos of the teams they would soon compete against. With no sleep, a staggering amount of homework in preparation for tests, and an already demanding practice schedule, he was stretching himself thin.

“We’re going to have to work with the second-year libero,” Oikawa said tiredly, rubbing his face with a hand and yawning. “Our regular member doesn’t have his doctor’s permission to play on that ankle yet.”

“I thought it was just a small sprain?” Iwaizumi asked, worried.

“So did I, but the coaches told me yesterday that he still can’t run on it. We’ve got a  _ day _ to practice with the new libero. It’s not enough.”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he said, bumping shoulders, “we’ll be fine. He’s a good enough player.”

Oikawa didn’t look like he bought it. “We’re not going to win the practice match today,” he said, words tumbling on top of each other. “And while I’m on the subject of losing, in a few months we’re going to have to face Shiratorizawa. Which means fighting Ushiwaka. Our team is nowhere near ready. I don’t want to fail again, Iwa-chan. I  _ can’t _ .”

“Hey,” Iwaizumi said, putting a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder, forcing him to stop and face him. “Don’t say that. We’ll be  _ fine _ . Have some faith in your teammates.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa replied, flashing a smile that Iwaizumi knew was empty. He had never looked so tired, so worn down. “Let’s get to school before the bell rings, okay? Iwa-chan?” He pulled away gently, turning his back on his friend. 

Iwaizumi let him walk away, not knowing how to fix it, how to help.

 

* * *

 

A whistle rang through the air, a signal to the panting members of the team to look to the coach. Oikawa was heaving harder than the others, his hands on his knees to keep them from shaking, eyebrows drawn together in frustration. He gnashed his teeth, sucking in air through his nose. His body wasn’t listening to him, wasn’t keeping up with the pace he needed to set. A combination of impatience, frustration, and pure tiredness had led to an insane number of missed tosses that had never been seen before up to that point. Not by Oikawa, not by their ace setter.

The coach’s words were heard by everyone. “Kageyama, why don’t you give it a try?”

Iwaizumi watched as Oikawa straightened and walked to the bench purposefully, keeping his body tall despite the expression on his face. It was equal parts disbelief, rage, and acceptance. He knew better than anyone how he had failed. 

Iwaizumi worried in the back of his mind that Kageyama taking Oikawa’s place might send him over the edge. Especially, he thought as he slammed a perfectly tossed ball and broke the opposing team’s defense, with Kageyama playing so well. They didn’t call him a genius for nothing.

They recovered the second set, and won the third, Kageyama’s natural abilities leading them to victory. 

“Did you see me?” Kageyama asked Iwaizumi excitedly, still thrilled with the win and rushing with adrenaline. “I won the match point with my serve. My  _ serve _ !” He mimed it out, jumping in the air and smashing his hand through the air. They were outside, just having waved goodbye to the members walking to a sushi shop for celebration.

“You did great,” Iwaizumi agreed warmly, laughing at Kageyama’s unnatural energy. “The coaches were really impressed. Actually, I think everyone in the gym was. Kindaichi could barely keep his mouth shut.”

Kageyama’s cheeks flushed from the praise. “It was fun,” he said, fingers twitching as if he were back in the match. “Holding the ball, tossing it to others, knowing where it was going to go. It was really fun.”

“Don’t ever lose that feeling,” Iwaizumi said, clapping him on the back hard enough to leave a handprint. “That’s the best part of the game.”

They stood quietly for a brief few moments. “I want to learn more,” Kageyama announced quietly, shoving his hands into his shorts. His smile was glued to his face as if it would never leave. “I want to be the best setter.”

Iwaizumi stared at him silently for a few seconds and nodded. “You’re on your way. To think you’re already at this point now…Kageyama, you’re going to be scary in high school.”

Kageyama shrugged and shouldered his bag. “I just want to be the best I can be. I don’t think that’s scary.”

“No,” Iwaizumi said finally, “no, I suppose it isn’t.” He stretched his arms above his head and stared at the sky. It was just beginning to get dark, the moon just barely visible above the treeline.

“So are your parents going to take you out?” he asked Kageyama suddenly. “For dinner, I mean. Did they see how amazing you played?”

Kageyama’s smile, it turned out, could disappear. “Ah, no. My brother had a soccer game today. So...they went to watch him.” He chewed on his lip quietly. “It’s okay, really. I’ll just tell them about it when they’re home tomorrow.”

Stupid idiot, Iwaizumi raged internally. Why’d he have to bring that up? Their conversation had been going so well. “We’ll just have to celebrate on our own, then,” he said hurriedly, thinking fast. He was sure he recalled one of the other third years leaving sweets in the locker room. He could grab those. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t leave!” He took off at a brisk jog, pleased with his idea.

When he got back, his steps faltered and he glanced around in confusion, the bag of sweets in his hand forgotten. Kageyama had disappeared, after he had  _ specifically _ said not to leave. He cursed under his breath when he noticed the gym doors ajar.

The coaches had told him to let Oikawa work out his frustrations alone. It was something he needed to work through by himself, something that nothing but the court and a volleyball in his hands could fix. Adding Kageyama to the mix was like adding gasoline to a bonfire.

He dropped the bag of desserts on the ground and sprinted for the doors, shoving it open just in time to hear Kageyama ask the same question he had been asking Oikawa since they had first met. 

Kageyama wanted to be the best setter, Iwaizumi remembered. And he had always thought Oikawa was the best. It made sense when you thought about it.

“Please teach me how to serve,” Kageyama said, voice innocent and all too young. Oikawa looked as if he towered over him.

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure how he made it across the gym in time. It was a blur, a rush of energy bursting in his tired muscles that propelled him forward far enough to tackle Oikawa’s arm before he could make contact with Kageyama.

“Oikawa!” he yelled, shoving his arm down. “Calm down, dumbass!”

Oikawa’s face drained of color as he realized what he had been about to do. The bags under his eyes were darker than ever. “Sorry,” he whispered, horrified. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Iwaizumi let go of his arm and turned to Kageyama quickly, assessing the damage. He looked shell shocked, but was unhurt. Iwaizumi wanted to do nothing more than rewind time, to let Kageyama leave remembering only the giddiness of winning a match. “I’m sorry, Kageyama,” he said bleakly. “Go home, okay? I left you the stuff outside, go ahead and take it all. You did a great job today.” He didn’t know what else to say, but he knew it wasn’t enough. What kind of person asked someone to go back to their empty house after nearly being hit? 

But Oikawa needed him more right now, and that was that. 

Kageyama slowly nodded and stumbled across the gym floor, sliding out the door as quietly as a phantom. Oikawa may have shocked him, but Iwaizumi sending him away was the final blow. He knew Iwaizumi would choose Oikawa over him, of course, but it still hurt.

Iwaizumi turned to Oikawa, staring at him and letting out a deep breath. “That substitution today was to let you clear your head,” he began, repeating the words the coaches had told him when they pulled him aside after the match. “You just need to take some time and work it ou—“

“I can’t!” Oikawa yelled over him in frustration, clenching his hands into fists. “You saw the match today! That team is nowhere near champion level, and I lost the entire first set! Almost every toss I made missed! There’s no way I can ‘take some time’ when I can’t possibly win against Shiratorizawa the way I am!” He was in Iwaizumi’s face now, releasing his pent-up stress. “You don’t understand, Hajime! I want to  _ win _ . I want to go on to the nationals! In order to win,  _ I  _ have to—“

Iwaizumi’s eye twitched in frustration. He would always be the first to admit he wasn’t a saint; there was only so much he could take. “Shut up!” he yelled, head-butting Oikawa’s forehead. The crack of their colliding heads was loud enough to ring across the gym. “All of that ‘I, I’ shit is annoying!”

Oikawa let out a short yelp of pain, clutching his bleeding nose and staggering back. The only thing keeping him upright was Iwaizumi’s fist on his shirt collar.

“Are you planning to fight by yourself?” Iwaizumi continued, ignoring his own stinging forehead. Oikawa had a harder head than Iwaizumi had expected. “This isn’t some joke, you dumbass! Your results and the team’s results are one and the same! If you’re going to get all conceited, I’ll punch you!”

“You already did!” Oikawa cried, blood dripping down his front and staining his shirt.

Iwaizumi yelled over him. “We’ve got nobody on this team who could win against Ushiwaka one on one! But volleyball’s got six people on the court for a reason! I don’t care if your opponent’s some genius first year, or Ushiwaka. With six people, the strong are even stronger, you dumbass!” He released Oikawa’s shirt and took deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

Oikawa was on his knees on the court, silent at first before beginning to laugh quietly. “The strong are even stronger,” he repeated, laughing a little more.

“Shit,” Iwaizumi muttered, dropping to his knees. “Sorry, Tooru, did I headbutt you too hard? Are you okay?”

“Hahaa,” Oikawa wheezed, wiping away blood with the back of his arm, “Yeah. I don’t know why, but. I actually feel…invincible.”

Iwaizumi ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath of relief. “Dumbass,” he said fondly, grabbing Oikawa by his armpits and dragging him up. “Let’s get you home.”

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said as he got to his feet and collected himself. “Can you…tell Kageyama that? I don’t think I can tell him myself, but I do mean it.” He pushed open the doors of the gym, holding them open long enough for Iwaizumi to exit after him. 

Iwaizumi spotted a lump on the sidewalk, and recognized the bag of sweets he had dropped. Kageyama hadn’t picked them up. “I can try,” he said, crouching to pick the bag up, “but I’m not sure he would want to talk to me either right now.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing important,” Iwaizumi said unhappily, clutching them tighter in his fist. He may have finally helped Oikawa, but Kageyama had gone home, confused and upset. Alone, again.

“You should go,” Oikawa said, tossing Iwaizumi a genuine smile that was ruined by his bloodstained upper lip. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“ _ Yes _ , Iwa-chan. I just want to go home and take a shower. Maybe watch a sad movie so I can cry. I’ll probably eat a lot and regret it in the morning when we run, but I’ll be fine.”

Iwaizumi watched him for a few moments before nodding. “Thanks,” he muttered, turning and beginning to jog, forcing his tired muscles to do this one last thing.

He reached Kageyama’s street the same moment the lights flickered on, their familiar buzz filling the silence. The door to Kageyama’s house was locked and the lights were off, but Iwaizumi could hear the sound of a ball thudding into something heavy behind the house. 

“Seriously?” Iwaizumi muttered, shaking his head and finding a safe area of the fence that wasn’t riddled with nails. He placed his empty hand at the top and heaved himself up with a grunt, placing his feet on a nearby trashcan for support. “Hey,” he called. “Kageyama!”

Kageyama was tossing to the fence, letting the ball bounce off before receiving it with his upper arms and tossing it again. Iwaizumi had surprised him, and the ball smacked him in the chest before falling to the ground. “Iwaizumi-san!” 

“You forgot something,” Iwaizumi said, shaking the bag in the air above his head. 

“I wanted you to have it,” Kageyama said, warily walking closer.

“Liar. Take it.”

“No.” Kageyama, it turned out, was a bad liar  _ and _ stubborn. Iwaizumi wondered if he was a magnet for those types.

“Take the damn food, Kageyama, as a peace offering. Before I fall and break my neck. Your garbage can is bending in, I think I weigh too much.”

Kageyama slipped closer and accepted the bag reluctantly, staring up at Iwaizumi’s face. “Why are you standing on the garbage can?”

Iwaizumi placed his second hand on the fence and hauled himself over, panting. “I couldn’t do that one-handed,” he admitted. “But I wanted to say sorry face to face.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Kageyama pointed out.

“No, I did,” Iwaizumi said, frustrated. He held his hands in the air, gesturing as he tried to word his thoughts. “I guess I’ll start with Oikawa. He’s been going through some tough times. I’m not trying to make excuses for him, I’m just telling you how I see it. He always saw you as a...threat to his position, I guess, and…God, I’m not doing a good job at this. You know how much you love volleyball?”

Kageyama frowned, confused. “Yeah,” he replied cautiously.

“He’s like that, too. You two are actually really similar. He wants to be on the court just as much as you do. He loves that feeling of tossing a ball just as much as you.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“You’re an amazing setter, Kageyama. That scares him, because what comes so naturally to you takes him a while to learn. When you went up to him asking for help, he just…snapped. I don’t know how else to say it. He wasn’t in a good place then. But he wanted to say sorry.”

Kageyama blinked, the bag in his hand crinkling as his fist tightened. “Is that why you came?” he asked, voice gruff.

“Yes and no,” Iwaizumi answered, “I didn’t come for Oikawa. He’s a dumbass and can do his own damn apology, but I felt like I had to explain a bit.  _ I _ came because I told you we would celebrate our win, just us two, then kicked you away when something else came up. That was a shitty thing to do, and I’m sorry. I was hoping to make up for it now.”

“It’s fine,” Kageyama assured, brushing the apology away. “I don’t mind.”

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi growled, “it’s not fine at all.” He crossed his arms, refusing to budge. “This is where you tell me I was an asshole.”

Kageyama looked alarmed, not sure how to respond. “Can’t I just, uh, accept the apology?”

Iwaizumi sighed and plopped onto the ground, the grass cold on his bare legs. “That’ll do for now, I guess. I still feel like an ass, though.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Dumbass, don’t apologize.”

Kageyama laughed, startling them both. “Sorry, I just. You call Oikawa dumbass. I thought that was just his thing.” He sat beside Iwaizumi, crossing his legs and opening the paper bag. He offered Iwaizumi a pastry. 

Iwaizumi accepted it with a nod of thanks. “I call most of my friends that,” he said with a frown. “If you don’t like it, I can stop.”

“We’re friends?” Kageyama asked, ears turning pink.

“Of course we are!” Iwaizumi exclaimed, poking him in the arm. “I don’t hang out with just anyone!”

“But Oikawa doesn’t like me.”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said, taking a bite of the sweet, “can get over himself. He doesn’t get to decide my friends.”

Kageyama bit his lip to hide his smile. The moonlight above was just enough that Iwaizumi could still see it, and smiled to himself.

“To friends?” he asked, holding a pastry in the air.

“Friends,” Kageyama replied, knocking his own to Iwaizumi’s. A shower of sugar flakes and crumbs fell onto their heads, and they laughed, both feeling tired but happy and warm.

 

* * *

 

**[two years later]**

 

“Iwa-chan, why do we need to show up to these junior high school matches?” Oikawa groaned, dragging his feet as if he were walking through mud. 

“Do you have anything better to do?” Iwaizumi asked, not really paying attention. He was focused on the courts beneath him, his hands in his pockets to hide his white knuckles. He was nervous, had been nervous ever since Kageyama had sent him a text four days ago asking if he would come watch the prefecture semifinals. 

“Not really, I guess,” Oikawa replied, falling into a seat with a sigh. “And it is nice to feel taller than all these children. How tall is Tobio-chan now, by the way? Have you seen him recently?”

“I saw him just last week,” Iwaizumi said, leaning over the railing. “Do you see him?”

“Who?”

“Tobio, you dumbass, who else? I see Kitgawa Daiichi over there warming up, but he’s not there.”

Oikawa groaned and pulled himself up to stand beside Iwaizumi. “He’s probably at the bathroom—oh, I was right. There he is.”

Iwaizumi spotted him immediately and cracked a smile. “Do you think he can see us?” he asked as he waved.

“No,” Oikawa said, looking at him in disgust. “He’s not even looking up here. Iwa-chan, you’re acting really weird.”

“I’m worried,” Iwaizumi confessed, taking his hands out of his pockets to grip the rail. “Tobio’s been texting me and I’m worried about the team.”

“What did he say?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “It’s probably nothing. He just gets into fights with them a lot. With  _ Kindaichi _ , of all people. That kid couldn’t fight a butterfly without being worried about hurting their feelings, so what’s he doing arguing with Tobio?”

Oikawa’s brow furrowed. “Did you hear the rumor about him?” he asked delicately.

“No? What are you talking about?”

“They call him a nickname,” Oikawa said with a shrug. 

“Oh, yeah,” Iwaizumi said with a sigh of relief. “It’s a thing they did at the end of their second year, he told me about it then. You should’ve seen his face, he was ecstatic. They call him King of the Court because he’s that good.” He nudged Oikawa with an elbow, smirking. “He might give you a run for your money.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “Ha ha, you’re  _ so _ funny. If we weren’t in public, I’d smack you.”

“Uhuh.”

“I don’t really see Tobio-chan as the type to get ‘ecstatic’,” Oikawa continued, tapping the railing and staring at Kageyama as he practiced his tosses. “He acts differently around you then anyone else, ever since that night I…well, you know. What happened then, Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah.”

Oikawa glared at him and rolled his eyes. “You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

“Yup,” Iwaizumi said. “Ah, he’s looking! Wave!” He waved to Kageyama vigorously, a grin on his face.

Oikawa waved less excitedly. “Why are we waving?”

“Because his parents are fucking assholes and haven’t gone to a single one of his games, and he needs someone to support him. They don’t do shit for him.”

“Ah,” Oikawa said, mouth forming a straight line, “good enough reason for me.” He waved a bit harder, forcing a smile on his face. 

Iwaizumi turned to face him, knocking elbows with him. “I really appreciate you coming out here with me, Oikawa. It means a lot to him, and to me.”

Oikawa made a strangled noise. “Don’t get mushy on me, Iwa-chan! And I don’t think he wants me here.”

“Shut up, he really looks up to you. Not so much as a role model, but as a rival.”

“I guess that’s for the best,” Oikawa said, shifting uncomfortably. “I like him a lot better as a rival than an underclassman, too. Not that he’s ever going to hear that I said that, right, Iwa-chan?” 

“Whatever you say, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi replied with a smirk. “Now be quiet, the teams are lining up.”

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi didn’t know how to react. 

He had watched as Kitagawa Daiichi had slowly gained points, and just as slowly fell apart. Kageyama hadn’t ever mentioned the rift that had grown between him and his team, not in any of their Skype chats, or text conversations. Not when they met face to face to study together, or toss a volleyball back and forth, or simply talk. 

Kageyama, it turned out, was a better liar than Iwaizumi thought.

“Kindaichi didn’t hit it,” he whispered in disbelief. “He let the toss go.”

Oikawa stared down at the court, a somber expression on his face. “This doesn’t bode well.”

They watched as the coach roughly called Kageyama to the bench. He looked shellshocked, stumbling slightly as he made his way over. When he sat down, his eyes searched the crowd for Iwaizumi before looking down, ashamed.

“Shit,” Iwaizumi cursed under his breath. “Shit. Oikawa, what do we do?”

“He didn’t tell you about any of this?”

“No?!? If he had I could’ve done something!”

“Then he probably didn’t tell you for a reason,” Oikawa responded delicately. “He probably didn’t want you to worry. You’re his friend, Iwaizumi. Maybe a little more than that, in his eyes.”

Iwaizumi gestured to Kageyama, who was sitting slumped on the bench, fists on knees, staring at his lap. “Look at him,” he whispered. “What do I do? I don’t know how to help him.”

“There’s not much we can do from here,” Oikawa said simply. “You’ll have to meet him when the game is over, if he lets you.”

The color in Iwaizumi’s face drained away as he thought of another thing. “Do you think—the nickname—do you think he realized?”

Oikawa winced. “It’s been a year since he told you. I’m pretty sure even someone as dense as Tobio would connect those dots.”

“Oh, god,” Iwaizumi groaned, running a hand over his face, “I’d call him that sometimes. I’m an asshole.”

“Iwa-chan, you didn’t know!” Oikawa protested.

“Did you?” Iwaizumi asked, rounding on his best friend, wide-eyed. “Did you know?”

Oikawa shook his head and held up his hands. “I had only heard rumors,” he said helplessly. “I didn’t think they were true. He seemed happy enough when he was around you.”

The whistles blew, signaling the end of the match and Iwaizumi reared his head like a wild animal. “I’ve gotta go,” he said, hopping around Oikawa and dashing for the stairs. “You can leave without me!” he yelled over his shoulder, pushing past the crowd that had begun to exit the stands.

He jumped down the stairs two at a time and sprinted to the court. The teams were in group huddles, but Kageyama wasn’t in sight. Finally, Iwaizumi spotted the familiar face slipping down the hall that led to the bathrooms and he sighed in relief.

“Tobio!” he called, entering the hallway and taking a left, hoping he remembered the way. It had only been two years, but the paths were fuzzy. He sighed in relief when he reached the bathroom signs, pushing open the door and glancing around. 

Kageyama was sitting on the floor beside the sinks, arms wrapped around his legs, his jacket zipped over his chin in the endearing way he liked it. His eyes were red but he hadn’t cried. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he grunted.

Iwaizumi crouched next to him, gripping Kageyama’s hand and rubbing it in comfort. “You okay?” he asked. His voice sounded loud in the silence of the bathroom.

“I’m…scared,” Kageyama said, voice threatening to crack. “I’m scared I won’t get to play volleyball ever again. It’s the only thing I’m good at, or, I thought I was good at. But I tossed that ball and no one was  _ there _ .” He sniffed angrily, rubbing his nose with his sleeve. 

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to speak, but Kageyama continued, angry and needing to vent. His face was scary, nothing like the smile or sleepy face Iwaizumi had become used to seeing. It was a glare that could’ve stopped him in his tracks if he didn’t know Kageyama any better. “I don’t want to even see them anymore,” he whispered in a low voice. “I thought we were friends. I thought they understood me, like you. But they. They called me King of the Court to  _ mock _ me. They loved it when I won them games, but got mad at me when I yelled at them to try harder.”

“When’d you learn about the nickname?” Iwaizumi asked, not knowing what to say.

Kageyama sniffed again. “At the beginning of this year. Kunimi laughed after saying it and it sort of clicked, I guess. I didn’t want you to know.”

“I’m sorry I called you that a couple times,” Iwaizumi said, wincing.  

“It was nice when you said it,” Kageyama assured. “It felt good.”

Iwaizumi chewed on his lip, sort of wishing he hadn’t left Oikawa behind. He wasn’t one to know what to say at times like these.

“I just don’t know what to do after this,” Kageyama said, interrupting Iwaizumi’s thoughts. “We still have practices after this match, and they’ve all…rejected me. What do I do?” he asked dully.

“It might not be so bad,” Iwaizumi offered. “They’re mad at you now, but people aren’t so simple. Everyone has their own reasonings and feelings.”

Kageyama glared at the floor. “I don’t understand them.”

Iwaizumi sat down on the floor beside Kageyama, careful not to hit his head on the pipes beneath the sink. “People aren’t always going to fit in the tiny boxes you make them,” he began. “Like you. When people first see you, what do you think they see?”

“I don’t know,” Kageyama replied with a small shrug. “A setter?”

“They probably see you as a genius in junior high who demands a lot from his teammates and can be a little bit dense off the court,” Iwaizumi supplied. He laughed at the face Kageyama made. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it, Tobio. People probably see me as a scary muscle guy who beats up his best friend, so I’m not much better.”

“You don’t beat Oikawa up.”

“Eh, that depends on who you ask. Oikawa swears he has scars from when we were kids. Says I bit him, but I’m pretty sure that was granny’s puppy. Anyway, you see how first impressions can be wrong? They know a side of us, but they don’t really  _ know _ us. Just like your team doesn’t really know you. You’ve gotta be the one to open up first, sometimes.”

“I don’t know how,” Kageyama groaned.

Iwaizumi slid an arm across Kageyama’s shoulders, a sympathetic look on his face. “Me either,” he admitted. “It might not work out at Kitagawa Daiichi, but that can’t stop you from meeting new people. You’re a third year now, and with your skills, you’re going to make it on a good team for next year. You’ll have the chance to make friends who  _ understand _ you and like you despite what a dumbass you can be sometimes.”

Kageyama snorted into his hand and Iwaizumi grinned.

“It’s tough love, but it’s real, Tobio. Don’t let this one team get you down. Use it to learn, and grow.”

“It hurts,” Kageyama confessed softly. “A lot.”

Iwaizumi’s heart broke, but he only hugged Kageyama a little tighter. “Yeah, it’s going to hurt for a while, I think. But that’s what I’m here for, okay? To help you. That’s why I gave you my number all that long time ago, right?”

“I thought that was for math problems.”

Iwaizumi eyed Kageyama. “Here I am, trying to be nice, and you’re cracking jokes?”

Kageyama smiled weakly, lips trembling but it was genuine and far better than the glare he’d worn only minutes before. “Thank you,” he said. 

“I’m always here for you, Tobio,” Iwaizumi promised. “Don’t ever forget that.”   
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: otooru  
> twitter: @shironekki
> 
> The wonderful BlackKite07 gave up sleep to beta this for me so please everyone go look at their magnificent writing and shoot all the praise at em.


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